In my previous post, we took a brief historical wander down the path that led England from the Norman Conquest in 1066 to the coronation of Henry II, the first Plantagenet king, in 1154. Quite an exciting story, which I hope also gives a glimpse into my fascination with this dynasty!
This week, let’s take a quick look at why the family became known as the Plantagenets. Henry II may have owed his claim to the English throne to his mother’s Anglo-Norman heritage, but the dynasty he founded inherited its unique name from his father, Geoffrey of Anjou.
Geoffrey, Angevin Count
Geoffrey was born on August 24, 1113, the oldest son of Fulk V, Count of Anjou and Ermengarde, Countess of Maine. He would have been brought up learning all the political and martial skills necessary to take over his father’s county, and by the time he was in his early teens, his reputed skill and potential came to the attention of many, including King Henry I of England.
In 1128, aged 15 and recently knighted, Geoffrey married Matilda, now the sole legitimate heir of the English king. Matilda was eleven years his senior and already a widow; in fact, she retained her of Empress title from her first marriage for the rest of her life. Just a year following their marriage, Geoffrey’s father relinquished his title as Count in order to become the King of Jerusalem, so his son took up the reins as Count Geoffrey V of Anjou.
Enamel plaque from the tomb of Geoffrey of Anjou
From Nickname to Family Name…Eventually
The traditional story says that Geoffrey had a habit of adorning his hat with a sprig of planta genista, a yellow flowering plant more usually known as ‘common broom,’ which earned him the nickname Plantagenet (or at least a similar variation). It paints a lovely and rather romantic picture, doesn’t it?
As with many such old tales, however, several aspects of this origin story are still debated. First, some historians raise the possibility that the name refers not to the literal broom plant, but instead to the idea of the Angevin house being a new ‘shoot’ or offspring, growing from other well-established European houses. Second, no evidence has been found yet proving that ‘Plantagenet’ was used as an actual family name by any of its living members until Richard, Duke of York, when he attempted to strengthen his claim to the throne in the 15th century by adopting the Plantagenet surname.
Stained glass depicting Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York St. Laurence’s Church, Ludlow, England
Whatever the truth of the association, the name has stuck as the recognizable label for the dynasty that ruled England for over 300 years. Let’s take a quick peek at the broom plant, which still thrives nearly a millennium after Geoffrey adopted the Plantagenet name for his ducal house.
Common Broom
Known today as Cytisus scoparius, common broom is considered an invasive species in areas of the US and Canada, and as such it is purposefully controlled. It has a long history as a medicinal plant, though like many others, its modern use is discouraged unless under the direction of an expert practitioner due to its potential toxicity and the existence of more reliable and safer alternative treatments.
Mrs. M. Grieve referenced the usage of broom for medicinal purposes dating as far back as Anglo-Saxon times, including its use by Welsh doctors in the early medieval period and its presence in English pharmaceutical texts in later centuries, including her own early 20th. It was taken internally to assist with cardiac issues or with those impacting the gastrointestinal system, as the plant was known to have cathartic and diuretic effects.
Its dangerous potential was also well known, and Mrs. Grieve warned that large doses could impart significant harm to the heart and respiratory organs, including the potential for lethal damage. She also cautioned that common broom can be easily confused with its more dangerous cousin, Spanish broom (Spartium junceum), leading to cases of accidental poisoning.
Considering those risks, I’d say common broom is better left to be appreciated for its visual and historical interest!
Plant, J. S. (2010). Understanding The Royal Name Plantagenet. Journal of One-Name Studies, 10(8), 14–15. https://one-name.org/wp/wp-content/uploads/journal/vol10-8.pdf.
On this day in 1189, King Henry II of England died at Chinon Castle. Henry was the very first Plantagenet king of England, and though his eventful life could be the subject of many posts (ooh, foreshadowing!), today we’re focusing on how he led a new dynasty to the throne.
Before we dive in, though, a note: you’re going to see the name Henry repeated throughout this article. A lot. For that matter, there are also quite a few Matildas in this story, but as we’re focused on one particular Henry and his mother, Matilda, I’ll refer to the others primarily by their relationship to our main duo whenever possible.
Henry and Matilda…and Henry…and another Henry….
Henry I as depicted in the 14th century
Henry Plantagenet’s claim to the English throne came through his mother, Matilda. Matilda was the eldest child of Henry I of England, who was in turn son of William the Conqueror, Duke of Normandy, who became the first Norman king of England after he won the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Matilda also had a younger brother, William Adelin, who was Henry I’s sole legitimate son.
The Empress
Matilda spent only the first few years of her childhood in England, as she was soon sought out as a bride for Henry V (another one!) of the Holy Roman Empire. As this was an enormous honor for Matilda and a boost to her father’s prestige, young Matilda was sent off to Germany to be raised and prepared there for her future role as queen and empress.
Matilda was married in January 1114, and even though disagreements between her new husband and the Pope meant that she was never officially crowned empress, she still adopted the title and used it for the rest of her life. Matilda also gained first-hand experience in leading and governing during her time in the Holy Roman Empire, as her husband left her in charge as regent several times during his absences. In 1118, Matilda ruled Henry’s Italian holdings while he put down a rebellion in Germany, yet despite being only 16, she proved herself to be effective and capable in the role. These experiences undoubtedly shaped her belief in a woman’s ability to govern, which would play a significant role in her future.
Empress Matilda
Catastrophe in the Channel
Disaster struck Matilda’s family in 1120 when her brother, William, drowned in the sinking of the White Ship as it sailed from Normandy back to England. Despite his numerous illegitimate offspring, Matilda’s father never had any further legitimate sons, and his queen had died two years before. Henry I remarried quickly, hoping to produce another legitimate heir, but suddenly the future of the English crown was very much in question.
The sinking of the White Ship, 1120
Despite the uncertainty in her homeland, Matilda remained secure and settled until May 1125, when her husband also passed away. Henry V left her with lands and property in Germany, and though she seemed content to remain in her adopted country, her father demanded her return to England. Matilda initially resisted, but as she was his sole remaining heir, she capitulated eventually.
Oaths in England
Matilda had returned to her father’s court by Christmastime 1126. Despite his remarriage to Adeliza of Louvain nearly six years before, Henry I still had no new son, and he realized that he must make arrangements of some kind to protect the kingdom in the event of his death. He took the unusual step of commanding his barons to swear fealty to his only living heir, Matilda.
Even though Matilda was now recognized as his heir, Henry I never envisioned a future where she fully occupied the English throne herself, alone and in her own right. Instead, he looked to Matilda to do what he could not: remarry and produce a son, who would then inherit his grandfather’s throne. Matilda’s primary role was to be the bridge between generations, safeguarding the Norman kingship until her son could don the crown. In 1127, Henry announced his choice for his daughter’s next husband: Geoffrey of Anjou, the son of Henry’s old enemy.
Geoffrey of Anjou
An Angevin Alliance?
Henry I might have been pleased with his announcement, but he was nearly the only one who was. Matilda was furious; she despised her intended, who was 11 years her junior, as an immature boy, and she considered him to be wildly inferior in terms of noble rank. How could she, an empress, even consider marrying the son of a mere count? It was unthinkable!
Many of the English barons disliked the idea as well. Historically, Normandy and Anjou had been tense rivals, so those barons with a Norman background instinctively mistrusted their longtime enemies. Nor did they want any Angevin getting so close to the English throne; the prevailing assumption of the time was that the husband was in charge in any marriage, regardless of social rank, so the barons feared Geoffrey’s interference if he became Matilda’s spouse.
Rather than viewing the situation as a risk, Henry I saw it as an opportunity to eliminate an enemy and further safeguard the Anglo-Norman holdings. By creating an alliance with Anjou, he intended to protect Normandy’s southern borders and reduce the risk of invasion on the edges of his territory. So regardless of his daughter’s rage and the misgivings of his barons, Henry proceeded with the marriage negotiations.
A New Hope
Matilda’s second marriage took place in 1128. Despite several years of tumultuous relations between Geoffrey and Matilda, their first son was born in 1133. This newest Henry, known as Henry Plantagenet (after his father’s family) or as Henry FitzEmpress (meaning “son of the empress”), carried all his family’s weighty ambitions on his tiny shoulders.
With baby Henry’s birth, it looked as though all of his grandfather’s plans were coming to fruition. All the old king needed to do now was hold things together for a few more years, and then the dynastic disaster triggered by the White Ship’s sinking would be averted. Unfortunately for England, fate had other plans.
Betrayal or Absolution?
Little more than two years later, Henry I fell ill and died on December 1, 1135. Most accounts reported that Henry reaffirmed Matilda as his heir on his deathbed, but some later swore that in his last moments, Henry absolved his barons of their previous oaths, clearing the way for another claimant to the throne.
That claimant was Henry’s nephew, Stephen of Blois. Stephen had long been close to the old king and had sworn his own oaths to Matilda, yet upon hearing the news of his uncle’s death, he raced to London to claim the crown.
King Stephen
On the other side of the Channel, Matilda had been counting on the loyalty of the English barons to preserve the throne for herself and her son. Some did remain true, but many switched allegiances and accepted Stephen instead. Whether they did so because they believed that Henry I had actually changed his mind (or at least chose to believe so to ease their consciences after breaking their oaths), or because they feared the combination of an unprecedented female ruler with a distrusted Angevin consort, the outcome was the same: suddenly, Matilda found herself without the support of the nobles she needed.
An Aside About Kingship
At this point in our story, we should recall that in 12th century England, kingship did not transfer from one ruler to another the same way it did in later centuries. At this time, the passage of the crown from father to heir was not yet assumed as an established custom, nor was there any automatic conferral of kingship to the next heir at the exact time of the previous king’s death. The previous ruler had the right to name his successor, whether that be a blood relative or not, but until certain formalities were undertaken by or on behalf of that successor, the country was leaderless and vulnerable.
Taken together, these nuances meant that not only was the crown NOT automatically assumed to belong to Henry I’s child (and/or designated heir), but also that as of the moment Henry I took his last breath, there was no king – and therefore no king’s laws – in England until the next ruler was determined. No wonder so many people of England were content to embrace the first claimant, a man who did have a reasonable familial claim to the throne, in order to preserve peace and order.
Anarchy
Based on what we’ve already witnessed about Matilda’s nature, you will likely not be surprised to learn that she did not simply accept that Stephen got the better of the situation. Instead, Matilda started planning her path to reclaiming her rightful inheritance. In 1139, the Empress was joined by her half-brother, Robert of Gloucester. Robert was thought to be Henry I’s favorite illegitimate son, and though he initially accepted Stephen’s usurpation, he soon came to regret that decision. He fully committed his resources and military experience to asserting his half-sister’s claim.
The next several years, which later became known as the Anarchy, were a difficult time for the people of England. Civil war broke out and battles between Stephen’s troops and Matilda’s forces, led by Robert, took place across the country, causing damage and disrupting lives. Neither side seemed able to gain and hold an advantage as the tide of momentum swept back and forth.
In February 1141, it seemed that Stephen’s luck had run out. He was captured at Lincoln and taken prisoner, and for several months that summer, Matilda was recognized as ruler and known as the Lady of the English. Then in September, it was Matilda’s turn to suffer a grave setback, as Robert of Gloucester was captured and Matilda was forced to negotiate a prisoner exchange with Stephen’s wife. Stephen was released in exchange for Robert’s return, and any gains the Empress had made vanished.
Depiction of the Battle of Lincoln, from Historia Anglorum
Late in the spring of 1142, Stephen besieged Matilda at Oxford, and it appeared that he might finally claim the victory. Yet Matilda escaped by night with a handful of knights as escorts; they wore white cloaks to blend in with the snowy landscape, then escaped through Stephen’s lines and traveled six miles to safety. She had eluded Stephen once more, but still neither side gained a significant advantage.
Periods of fighting persisted until 1147, when Robert of Gloucester, Matilda’s staunchest ally and vital supporter, passed away. Worn down and without her chief commander, Matilda relinquished her fight to gain the throne for herself, and instead passed her claim on to her son, Henry, to pursue.
Reaching a Resolution
Henry FitzEmpress engaged Stephen’s forces in battle now and again over the following years until 1153, when after a period of stalemate, supporters of both Henry and Stephen urged them to make a settlement. In early August, the two men finally reached agreement on the Treaty of Wallingford. Under the terms of the treaty, Stephen would remain king, but Henry would be named Stephen’s heir and would assume the throne after his death.
Stephen died on October 25, 1154, exhausted after the long fight for his kingdom and the recent deaths of his wife and son. Henry II was crowned king in Westminster Abbey on December 19, 1154, becoming the first king of the Plantagenet dynasty. That dynasty would go on to rule England for over 300 years, until the battle of Bosworth in 1485 saw the last Plantagenet king slain in battle and the crown picked up by a new dynasty: the Tudors.
King Henry II
Empress Matilda
As for Matilda, she spent her remaining years counseling her son and serving as his regent in Normandy. Upon her death in 1167, she was buried in the abbey of Bec-Hellouin. Her inscription reads ‘Great by birth, greater by marriage, greatest in her offspring, here lies the daughter, wife and mother of Henry.’
And that, folks, is how the Plantagenet dynasty got its start – but it’s just that, a start! We’ll have plenty more to learn from this exciting, if contentious, family line.
Related post: learn about the botanical basis of the dynasty’s name!
Sources and Further Reading
Norton, E. (2015). England’s Queens: From Boudica to Elizabeth of York. Amberley.
Lewis, M. (2019). Stephen and Matilda’s civil war. Pen & Sword History.
SPENCER, C. (2021). The White Ship: Conquest, Anarchy and the Wrecking of Henry I’s Dream. William Collins.
Jones, D. (2014). The Plantagenets: The Warrior Kings and Queens Who Made England. Penguin Books
I was always a city kid, but when you grow up in Nebraska and spend lots of summer vacations driving across various Midwestern states with an RV to see the sites and visit family, you pick up an old farmer’s adage or two along the way. One that particularly stuck with me was this old saying, used to advise whether the corn crops were on track to have a good harvest by the fall: the farmer should have corn that was “knee high by the Fourth of July.”
I can’t tell why that one has stayed in my brain, other than that it’s particularly fun to say with an overly-exaggerated country drawl. (Try it if you haven’t already – you’ll thank me for it.) It isn’t even useful advice anymore; from what I’ve read, advances in agricultural science and growing techniques mean that these days, most cornfields would have surpassed knee-height long before now. Still, a glance at my calendar this week brought it to mind, so an Independence Day garden check-in seemed like a darn good idea.
(For the record: I’d initially planned to include more up-to-the-moment snapshots today, but we’ve had crazy winds over the past day or so and many of the plants are tilting and having, shall we say, bad leaf days. I’ll have to share a full gallery once they’re recovered a bit!)
2021 Growing Conditions To Date
Spring here was mostly cool and dry, with long stretches of grey days that didn’t actually bring much precipitation. After a winter with less-than-average snowfall and the absence of any late-season (late March-April) last-gasp snowstorms, it’s been a struggle all season to keep appropriate moisture levels in the soil. The state set several heat records in June as well, so it’s been rather crispy all around so far.
Background: This Season’s Crop
As of this weekend, my plants have been in their containers outdoors for a full 6 weeks. In hindsight, some of the hardier souls probably could have gone into the soil a bit earlier, but mid-May had seen such wild temperature fluctuations, including several dips to the mid-30s Fahrenheit, that I decided to play it safe. Especially since I’d had greater success in starting seedlings indoors this year than I’d ever had before, I didn’t want to risk my plant babies! (More on lessons learned from indoor experiments at a later date.)
Just getting them settled into their homes for the season. 5/24/21
Container Setup
As I mentioned in my previous “meet the garden” post, my suburban townhome situation means that my plants are container-dwellers. I’ve gotten more skilled at the nuances of container growing over the seasons, which is good! There is a down side, however. The result of my increased confidence and expanding interests has been that the total volume of planters has also grown considerably, from a measly 11 little pots or so when I started, up to 45 this year.
What’s the problem, you may ask? Well, we’ve always enjoyed using our deck for other things as well, like grilling meals, relaxing to read, and letting the pets out for some basking in the sun. After last year, the amount of room left to the rest of the non-plant family was quite limited, so I resolved to preserve some leisure space this year.
I expanded my growing space this year by doubling the number of railing planters I set up on the deck’s edge. This certainly has freed up some real estate on the deck floor, though I’ve been learning quickly what does and doesn’t work so well in that setup! I’ve also tried more companion planting, such as allowing a couple basil plants to grow between the tomatoes, and so far the experiment is working.
June 12, 2021
My plants are loosely divided into a few different categories: medicinal herbs, vegetables, herbs primarily used for culinary purposes, and decorative flowers. Let’s briefly check in with each.
Medicinal Herbs
Getting some lovely early returns with the yarrow, calendula, comfrey, and chamomile!
The winner of this category, leaves-down, has to be the borage! It’s my first year growing it, and I’ve been utterly amazed by how easy it was to grow from seed, how well it took off in the garden, how absolutely gorgeous the flowers are, and how much the bumblebees can’t stay away from it! It’s lovely to see little pollinator friends going from borage to calendula to yarrow to catnip and back again. I have it on good authority that these blooms also taste fantastic, but so far I’ve been saving and drying them for later medicinal use. I’ll have to try it soon, though!
Borage, 2021
Veggies
As part of the attempt to control the amount of space taken up by each type of plant this year, I decided to go “mini” with the vegetable plants. That is, rather than full-grown species, I opted for cherry tomatoes and lunchbox peppers. I’d never come across lunchbox peppers before, but as you might imagine, they promise small, compact peppers that are perfect for a snack or a single-person side. Worth a try in my book!
So far, a few tiny green tomatoes have been spotted, along with a few blossoms on the pepper plants. Stay tuned!
Peppers and tomatoes and basil, oh my!
Culinary Herbs
In past years, I’ve struggled a bit with which way to prioritize herbs like sage, thyme, and oregano. Great for herbal healing remedies, of course, but also lovely to have as fresh culinary ingredients! One of the things I’ve learned after a few seasons of growing herbs is that trying to do everything usually leads me absolutely nowhere, and I end the season feeling that I wasted opportunities and frustrated that I didn’t have enough preserved for either medicinal or culinary purposes over the winter.
This year I changed my approach a bit. I decided that I have a number of other herbs I’m growing purely for medicinal reasons, like plantain, calendula, yarrow and borage. This year, I’d try to expand my focus with the kitchen herbs to using them exactly that way: fresh, as needed, in the kitchen. Sounds like a minor adjustment, I know, but giving myself permission to use, enjoy and share them at their freshest has been downright liberating.
They’re doing rather well this year, too, knock on wood. I’d planned to share a picture of the mediterranean planter with you, but they’re looking a bit mushed-down at the moment after a good watering. Soon, though! In the meantime, here’s a tiny glimpse of some lemon thyme…oh, and Llewelyn the Lesser, just for fun. 🙂
Decorative Flowers
Finally, even though I really didn’t intend to grow any purely decorative flowers this year in order to reserve space, I did end up with two after all…and they’re so gorgeous, I’m truly glad I did.
This pretty petunia was an impulse buy at a plant sale this spring, but I couldn’t resist those colors. Unfortunately, it was in a section of unmarked misfits, so I don’t have details on its variety. Looks gorgeous amongst the other greenery, though!
Petunia, unknown variety, 2021
I’m so pleased that this snapdragon bloomed this year. I attempted to grow these seeds last season, but long story short, they didn’t germinate. I tried again this year with the remaining seeds in the packet, and while only two plants were successful, just look at the stunning color of these blooms! (Territorial Seed Company, Potomac Sunset)
Snapdragon, Potomac Sunset, 2021
Thanks for taking this garden tour with me! Be back soon with more updates and plant bios!
Welcome back to this follow-up post! We’re discussing how to physically identify poison hemlock, as well as how to distinguish between hemlock and yarrow, whose appearances are deceptively similar.
In my previous post, we walked through hemlock’s history. Stretching all the way back to the ancient world, hemlock was known as both a deadly poison and a useful healer. Herbalists across the centuries treated it with wary respect and cautioned their readers about the razor-thin line separating a healing dose from a lethal one.
Interesting, but…so what?
At this point, you might (understandably!) be asking: okay, it’s been a pleasant jaunt down history lane, but how does this actually impact my modern life?
Well, since 2021 seems to be doing its darndest to out-catastrophe 2020, get ready to add “poisonous plant resurgence” to your bingo card! That’s right, hemlock is reported to be popping up in greater abundance this summer in several U.S. states, increasing your chances of a close encounter.
So just stay away, right?
You may ALSO be wondering: if hemlock is so dangerous, and its poisonous effects have been so well-known for basically forever, why do people still get close enough to be harmed?
Most accidental poisonings are the result of mistaken identities. As such, hemlock is a textbook example of how vitally important it is to make sure you are 100% positive on a plant’s identification before you interact with it. Let’s talk about how to do that.
Hemlock’s Modern Threat
Hemlock is a master of disguise. It is sufficiently similar in appearance to several other harmless or even beneficial plants to be easily misidentified if a person is unaware of what to look for. Examples of lookalike plants include wild carrot (aka Queen Anne’s lace), fennel, parsley and yarrow, though all can be distinguished by a visual examination if you know what to look for.
I am by no means an expert on plant identification, but as I have previously posted about yarrow and its benefits, let’s explore some key distinctions between hemlock and yarrow in terms of their appearance. As for hemlock’s other lookalikes, please refer to a reputable guide book or other source to learn how to distinguish each. Unless you have a confirmed identity for the plant you’re looking at, stay away and do not touch!
Distinguishing between Hemlock and Yarrow
Both yarrow and hemlock have clusters of small, white flowers and fairly delicate sets of leaves. These similar features make them easy to confuse, especially if you don’t have both in front of you to compare. Fortunately, there are several physical distinctions that can help you determine whether the plant in question is friend or foe. (Use the slider bars below to view and compare photos of each characteristic!)
Flowers
Personally I find the flowers the most difficult part of these two plants to distinguish. Keener eyes than mine can probably spot lots of minute differences in the tiny white flowers themselves, but if that’s not your forte either, check for the shape of the clusters. Hemlock’s clusters form an umbel, meaning that they are all on short stalks that branch out from a common point and look somewhat like the ribs of an umbrella.
It’s also worth noting for fun that cultivated yarrow can have flowers in many different colors, ranging from soft pastel pinks to bright, vivid shades of orange, red, yellow, gold…the options are plentiful if you’re looking for an ornamental yarrow, and they make very pretty pops of color in the garden. Herbalists tend to seek white yarrow for medicinal uses, however, as it is not certain whether the colorful varieties possess the same beneficial properties.
Yarrow is a significantly shorter plant than hemlock, tending to top out at two to three feet high. Fully-grown hemlock, on the other hand, can reach heights of five to ten feet. If the plant you’re looking at is above your head, it’s not going to be yarrow.
Leaves
Though the two plants have similar leaves, there are definite differences in their leaf structure. Yarrow’s leaves are frilly, thin, and fern-like. Hemlock’s leaves are broader across the middle, flatter, and have a similar shape to those of parsley.
Examining the stems of the plants is probably the most surefire way to tell these two apart. Yarrow’s stems are green, slightly fuzzy and grooved. Hemlock’s stems usually (though not always, as I understand it) have telltale red or purple blotches that set them apart. To help you keep track of which is which, remember that some folks call those blotches ‘Socrates’ blood’!
Here’s that info again for those of you who prefer charts:
Yarrow
Poison Hemlock
Flowers
Clusters of small, white blossoms; not truely umbel-shape
True umbel clusters of small white flowers
Leaves
Frilly, thin, delicate, fern-like
Flat, broader in center, spiky lobes, shaped like parsley
Stems
Green, slightly fuzzy
Smooth, hairless, often with purplish-red splotches
Height
Medium height, approx 2-3 feet
Taller once grown, up to 5-10 feet
Once again, the surest way to keep yourself and your family safe is to avoid touching or consuming any plant material unless you have an absolutely confirmed identity of that plant. If you plan to be out in the world where you may encounter uncultivated plants, I strongly suggest bringing along a plant identification guide. Find a book or online resource that covers the specific region you plan to be in, as there can be wildly different climates and vegetation even within the same state.
Welcome to the section of this site dedicated to real-life gardening and growing experiments! I’ll be sharing progress updates throughout the growing season, lessons learned (sometimes the hard way), the logic – or lack thereof – behind some of my experimentation, and other interesting tidbits as I get to know some of our age-old herbal allies.
My garden is a bit atypical, though, so I’ll start by introducing you.
My Unique Kind of Garden
For years, I’ve been intrigued by the way that regular people kept themselves healthy centuries ago. I don’t mean that I study the history of formal medicine or developments in the expertise of physicians; those treatments were fine and good (well, sometimes) for the wealthier sort who had access to them and could afford their expenses. No, I’m talking about the remedies of common folks, the “everybody else,” who relied on generations’ worth of experimental knowledge of plants and their surrounding environment, and who depended on the healing properties found in nature to heal and preserve themselves.
It’s important to note that I have no formal training in medicine or botany. Heck, I don’t even really have a green thumb! Yet despite my limited knowledge about plants and a sub-par natural ability to even tell them apart, I love the idea that these things growing wild around us have so much potential! And frankly, I’m boggled by the fact that our ancestors figured out those medicinal properties without the benefit of modern science. I mean, who was the first person to, say, get a splinter in a finger, then look down at a funny green thing growing nearby and think “huh, I wonder if my hand would feel better if I tied those leaves around it?” (We won’t even think about what happened all the times when those experiments DIDN’T go well!) From our lofty modern-day perspective, shaped with the benefit of scientific knowledge, it’s easy for us to doubt those old folk remedies were anything but a placebo, but science has proven to us that these plants really do possess some of the abilities that our forerunners figured out.
Comfrey leaves – very well could have helped with that splinter!
Making It Personal
One day I found myself musing about what it must have been like to walk through a meadow or a forest, or down by a stream, and to not only recognize the plants I saw, but also to know what I could do with them to help myself or my family the next time we fell ill or were injured. I imagined collecting those herbs and flowers and bark, taking them home and storing them carefully. Then comes the most difficult, yet most intriguing, part to imagine: days or months down the road, reaching for those things I’d gathered, and mixing or combining or infusing them into a remedy that could reduce a fever or staunch bleeding or calm a queasy stomach. How cool would that be? No wonder some believed there must have been magic involved!
Then I thought: what if I could try it out? Not by foraging in ditches alongside Interstate 35 or digging down by the neighborhood pond, of course (remember my brown thumb? I’d ingest something poisonous for sure!). But what if I could grow a few safe herbs here at home, right alongside my ornamental flowers? It felt like a way to touch the past; by observing and tending the same plants that women have used for centuries, I thought I might understand just a little more about the experiences of those healers.
First calendula (Radio) of 2021
Diving Into Herbal History
As you might’ve guessed from the name of this site, my main historical interests lie in the medieval and early modern (think the Tudors/Renaissance) periods. So I started researching herbal and folk remedies from around 1100 AD onward, and I came up with a list of a few that seemed a) safe; and b) available in the midwestern United States. Then I had to consider the growing conditions available to me, which limited my options and helped me keep my grandiose dreams a bit in check.
Growing Area
When I say ‘garden,’ that’s a very generous description of the area I have to work with. We live in a suburban townhome without an actual garden plot or a space to make one (thanks to some silly homeowners’ association rules), but the place does have a rather nice deck. It’s not a massive size by any means, but it provides a pretty decent living space out there, and I’d enjoyed keeping a few containers of home-improvement-store flowers around the edges since we moved in. Still, I knew my herb garden would need to be container-based.
Containers galore
Keeping It Real…istic
The deck wasn’t the only limitation I had to consider. We’re in hardiness zone 4, which in a nutshell translates to very cold winters, late spring frost dates and in general a fairly short growing season. Some of the medieval plants I initially considered just weren’t likely to thrive in this climate, or at least I had to seek out the hardier varieties as the “best-available” option. Take lavender, for example: while a French lavender is lovely and certainly would have been prized in its native growing area, I’ve opted for varieties like Munstead, which is better-equipped for the English climate, and Phenomenal, which has been bred specifically for success in even chillier regions like mine.
Phenomenal lavender, 2021
Along those same vines – er, lines – many herbs and medicinal plants are perennials. Even in Minnesota, they might have a decent chance at survival if planted in the ground, but suspended twelve feet in the air in containers exposed to the elements? That takes a tough plant indeed to survive beyond a season. As my research advised, some herbs take more than one year to reach the point where their leaves/flowers/roots/what-have-you are viable to be used in medicinal preparations, so was there a purpose in even trying to grow them? I’ll circle back to these considerations in a future post.
Then there’s the elephant in every room: money. As much as I wish I had an endless supply of cash to dedicate to expanding, protecting and improving my garden experiment, this was and remains my hobby (one of several, truth be told). Expenditures every year, especially in the spring, have to be somewhat kept in check, as I’m sure many of you have also experienced. As a result, I try to control costs where possible, and you won’t see me with a super-fancy setup or the prettiest pots. Function over form all the way, and even then sometimes function has to limp along until I’m ready to invest in the upgrade!
Last but by no means least, I’m a fur mama to two dogs and four mini panthers (okay, black cats), and their safety is a prime concern. The panthers are inside cats and the dogs are always supervised outside, yet I always consider a plant’s toxicity level to animals before including it in my garden plans. Does this mean I will never grow plants that could be dangerous if the pets were to get into them? Not necessarily, but it does mean that I remain aware of those plants that could cause discomfort or worse if ingested, I take steps to keep them out of reach, and I’m constantly vigilant when any of the animals are on the deck to make sure they aren’t sneaking nibbles.
One of the supervised culprits at work! (Don’t worry, that’s just catnip she’s investigating.)
With all these aspects to consider, there are a lot of things I can’t do or try in my garden as it is. That’s okay, though, because my real goals are still met.
Goals – and Things that are Specifically NOT Goals
Here’s one of those situations when a thing is easier to describe by starting with what it is NOT, before moving on to what it actually is. We’ll start there.
1. This blog is NOT one of those fancy lifestyle blogs. (Let’s be honest, though; if you’re still reading at this point, you’ve likely already figured that out. Thanks for sticking with me.) I don’t have advice for you on the best way to make herbal vinegars that will clean your entire home while giving you the shiniest hair you’ve ever had in your life. There are other blogs that probably CAN advise you there, and those blogs are great! Those things just aren’t part of my knowledge base or skillset at this time.
2. Along those same lines, I’m not out to have the coolest deck or the swankiest patio setup. Again, not my forte, and I certainly won’t be entering (let alone winning) any contests for “most visually appealing garden setup.”
3. I will never claim to be a fantastic gardener, and frankly it isn’t my goal to become one. I garden because I enjoy it, and I garden in a way that fits my time and interests. Skill and expertise will grow with experience, so I don’t sweat it now.
So what IS my goal with all of this?
Simply put, my intention is to learn from and grow with the plants.
Cheesy? Probably. The thing is, the more I research, choose, tend to, observe and preserve these plants, the more I learn about them, their preferences, what helps them thrive, and how plants and humans are dependent on each other. All of that circles back to gaining just that bit more understanding of the lives of the people who depended on these plants for their very lives in times past.
So welcome to my garden! I hope you’ll enjoy following and learning along with me. I’ll be posting updates soon with this year’s progress!
If you live in the United States, you may have seen recent news reports and online warnings about an apparent resurgence and spread of the plant known as poison hemlock. Just earlier this month, it was reported by the Mansfield News Journal as spreading across the state of Ohio, causing concerns about its extreme toxicity and the danger to humans and livestock.
These reports may be giving you flashbacks to your social studies classes (hang on, didn’t some famous guy die from drinking hemlock, like way back in the old days?), but while your history teachers would undoubtedly be proud of your recall, it’s important to remember poison hemlock is still a very real threat to us today, especially if we run across it unawares. In fact, you may notice that it looks rather familiar…perhaps to a certain plant I’ve already posted about? (See my previous post on yarrow here.) You’re not imagining things; there are distinct similarities between the two in appearance, though their impacts on the human body are largely opposite.
Because hemlock has such a close resemblance to a common and well-loved medicinal herb, it’s imperative to understand and be able to spot the differences to stay safe. Let’s take a look at what poison hemlock is, its history and how to steer clear of this potentially deadly imposter.
What is Poison Hemlock?
Not to be confused with the hemlock tree, poison hemlock is a member of the carrot family (Apiaceae) and its Latin name is Conium maculatum. Its lacy, divided leaves spring from a smooth green stem, and it produces clusters of small white flowers in an umbel (umbrella-shaped) form. All parts of the plant are highly toxic to humans and animals; even a small touch can cause irritation to the skin. Hemlock has an unpleasant, rank and alkaline smell when the leaves are crushed. It contains alkaloid poisons that affect the central nervous system and can cause paralysis in the limbs, working inward to the respiratory muscles and leading to death.
Poison hemlock is native to North America, Europe and western Asia. It is now found in nearly every U.S. state after it was marketed in the 1800s as a fern for the garden. It prefers shaded areas with moist soil, but it can crop up near roadsides, the edges of fields, ditches, marshy areas and meadows.
Hemlock’s History
The Ancient World
The effects of hemlock were well-known in ancient Greece and Persia. Physicians sometimes used hemlock to relieve conditions like arthritis and as a sedative, but such treatment was risky due to the extremely fine difference between a beneficial dose and a toxic one. (This should go without saying, but DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!) Most frequently, hemlock was used as a method of execution in this period.
Poison hemlock’s most well-remembered victim was the ancient philosopher, Socrates. Despite his renown, Socrates was tried and convicted of polluting the minds of the youth of Athens, where he taught and served. While the most famous account of his death, recorded by Plato, is questioned by scholars as to its factual accuracy, it is generally accepted that Socrates consumed a drink containing hemlock. The hemlock’s toxicity would have gradually paralyzed all of his muscles, including his heart and lungs, causing death.
David, Jacques-Louis. The Death of Socrates. 1787. Oil on canvas. 51.0 in × 77.2 in. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Accessed 6/30/21. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/436105
Hemlock’s infamy was not restricted to the ancient Mediterranean, however; it crops up in herbals through the centuries, even into the early 1900s. Let’s look at some examples to see how herbalists in successive time periods portrayed this plant.
Medieval Europe
Our first stop is in the twelfth century, at a Benedictine monastery in modern-day Germany. You may be surprised to find that the widely-known and well-respected herbalist here was a woman! Hildegard von Bingen was the abbess, and alongside various musical and spiritual compositions, she also authored two medical texts, including Physica, one of the earliest-known herbals written by a woman.
Hildegard certainly doesn’t beat around the bush in her entry on hemlock. She immediately identifies the dangerous consequences of ingesting this plant:
“Hemlock (scherling) is hot and has danger in it so that, if a person eats it, it destroys everything that has been well and correctly established in his blood and humors. It causes bad inundations in him, in the same way that storms make disturbances in the water.”
Yikes! The message is clear: stay away!
Yet despite its clear risks, Hildegard identified some instances in which hemlock can help when carefully administered:
“…one who has been badly stricken by spears and cudgels, or who has fallen from a high altitude so that his flesh and limbs are crushed, should cook hemlock in water and place the expressed water over the limbs which are injured. He should tie a cloth over the area, and so dissipate the humors which have collected there.”
As with the ancient Greeks, medieval Europeans were aware of hemlock’s potential to heal, yet they greatly respected its power to harm.
Von Bingen, Hildegard. Self-portrait. 12th century. Illustrated manuscript.
Renaissance England
Skipping forward a few centuries to the Renaissance (or early modern) period, we find an era when knowledge of medical science was becoming increasingly available and accepted, yet a keen interest in plants and gardening spurred an increase in the number of herbals and plant guides being written. One of the best-known volumes was The English Physician by Nicholas Culpeper.
Reflecting trends of the time, Culpeper’s description of hemlock began with its striking appearance:
“The common great hemlock groweth up with a green stalk, four or five feet high, and sometimes higher, full of red spots; at the joints are set very large winged leaves, which are divided into many other winged leaves, set one against another, dented on the edges, and of a sad green colour. The stalks are branched towards the top, each bearing umbels of white flowers, which are followed by whitish flat seed. The root is long, white, hollow, and sometimes crooked, of a very strong, heady, and disagreeable smell.”
Culpeper went on to advise that hemlock was very dangerous and must not be taken internally, though like Hildegard, he did acknowledge that if utilized in just the proper way, it could ease certain topical ailments. Interestingly, Culpeper wrote of a possible antidote to be used in the case of a patient who had mistakenly ingested hemlock, though even his own words sound remarkably unconvinced of its likelihood of success.
In the mid-18th century, Austrian physician Anton von Stoerck studied the potential of several poisonous plants to be used in medical treatments. His process of staged experimentation (first on animals, then on himself, then finally on patients) led the way toward the clinical trial model used today.
Von Stoerck described the process and outcomes of his study of hemlock in An Essay on the Medical Nature of Hemlock, published in 1760, which he addressed and dedicated to the Holy Roman Empress, Maria Theresa. Inspired by accounts of successful treatments recorded by early writers like Pliny, von Stoerck experimented with hemlock extracts and powders. He detailed the outcome of 20 cases he treated, and though he concluded his essay with a series of additional questions he hoped to pursue, he remained convinced that with proper preparation, hemlock could be a medicinal asset to humankind.
By the early 20th century, the medicinal use of hemlock had been well-established. Maud Grieve, author of 1931’s A Modern Herbal, credited such use back to the work of von Stoerck, though she qualified that “it has lost some of its reputation owing to the uncertain action of the preparations made from it.” Mrs. Grieve provided an overview of the practices of her day, which primarily relied on hemlock’s same sedative and antispasmodic properties that had been noted as far back as the ancients. Yet despite the apparent acceptance of the plant’s benefits, Mrs. Grieve echoed the cautions of her forebears and emphasized that hemlock treatments must be dispensed with great care to avoid poisoning, paralysis and death.
Maud Grieve, 1928, National Portrait Gallery, London
Today
Since the time of Mrs. Grieve’s writing, modern medicine has advanced and become sufficiently accessible in most regions where hemlock thrives that less reliance is placed on the curative properties of plants alone when treating physical ailments. As a result, safer and more effective remedies are available for the complaints previously treated with hemlock, eliminating the need to risk dangerous overdoses. Yet as recent news brings home, poison hemlock is still very much alive and well in our natural environment, and as such it continues to pose a toxic threat.
What’s Next?
Now that we’ve discussed the long and much-documented history of poison hemlock, we need to learn how to recognize it and – perhaps most importantly – avoid misidentifying it as another benign plant! Stay tuned for my next post on distinguishing dangerous hemlock from friendly yarrow, coming out on Friday, 7/2/21!
Von Bingen, Hildegard. Essay. In Hildegard Von Bingen’s Physica: the Complete English Translation of Her Classic Work on Health and Healing, translated by Priscilla Throop, 26–27. Rochester,, VT: Healing Arts Press, 1998.
CULPEPER, NICHOLAS. Essay. In CULPEPER’S ENGLISH PHYSICIAN: and Complete Herbal (Classic Reprint), 200–201. London: FORGOTTEN Books, 2015.
An essay on the medicinal nature of hemlock: … / translated from the Latin original. Written by Dr. Storck.
From Thomas More’s illustrated manuscript on the coronation of Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon (1509)
Pomegranate. Rose. Neither of these blooming beauties are likely to strike fear into one’s heart at their mere mention of their names, yet almost 500 years ago this week, the Pomegranate did indeed defy England’s royal Rose.
No, this description isn’t of some type of horticultural Street Fighter matchup (though that DOES sound interesting). Instead, it refers to medieval European emblems that were used to represent important families and individuals. In an age when most of the population was illiterate, recognizable symbolism played a key role in communicating a person’s identity, prestige and societal rank. Chosen not simply according to personal preference but often for a common symbolic meaning, the choice of one’s heraldic emblem or badge could convey a message about its owner’s character, aspirations, and even lineage.
A pomegranate tree
The Pomegranate: Katherine of Aragon, Queen of England
The pomegranate has a long and symbolic history in much of the Mediterranean region, including the ancient Egyptian, Jewish and Greek cultures. The many seeds of its fruit represented fertility, life and marriage, and its rounded shape could represent an imperial orb, symbolizing imperial rule. With such associations, the pomegranate was a fitting emblem of Katherine of Aragon, daughter of those renowned Spanish monarchs, Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile.
Katherine was born on December 16, 1485, and although she was the youngest daughter, she was engaged to the Prince of Wales at only three and was raised to be a capable queen. The Treaty of Medina del Campo not only secured Katherine’s future, it also created an alliance between Spain and England against France. When Katherine wed into the Tudor family (marrying first her betrothed, Arthur, and after his death marrying his younger brother, Henry VIII), her pomegranate was established within English heraldry, joining his Tudor rose as the visual representation of the monarchy.
Katherine of Aragon’s pomegranate badge
The Rose: Henry VIII, King of England
Roses were a popular emblem around the world during the medieval and early modern periods, rich in symbolism in many cultures. In Europe, faithfulness, enduring affection and beauty were among the secular qualities associated with the rose, while Christian imagery often associated the white rose with the Virgin Mary’s purity and the red rose with Christ’s blood.
Roses had long been used in English royal imagery, and when Henry Tudor claimed the English throne after his victory at the Battle of Bosworth, he combined the red rose of his house of Lancaster with the white rose of defeated house of York to create the symbol of his new dynasty, a single red and white rose that symbolized the peace and unity he hoped to achieve. This Tudor rose was adopted by his son and heir, who became Henry VIII upon his father’s death.
The Tudor rose represented the houses of York and Lancaster united
Alliance and Marriage
Seven years after the death of Arthur Tudor, Prince of Wales and Katherine’s first husband, hopes for the continued friendship between England and Spain were bolstered when Henry VIII, newly ascended to the throne, chose Katherine as his wife and queen in a love match. They were married and crowned together at Westminster Abbey in 1509. All appeared rosy indeed.
Katherine and Henry’s celebrity marriage may have started as a fairytale-come-true, but the pressures of 16th-century king- and- queenship could take its toll on the best of relationships. After England had suffered decades of civil war during the Wars of the Roses, ensuring a smooth succession from father to son was a vital necessity for the new Tudor dynasty. Henry and Katherine now desperately needed a boy to raise and prepare to take over his father’s throne.
The coronation of Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon, featuring the Tudor rose and Katherine’s pomegranate (woodcut, 16th c.)
‘The King’s Great Matter’
Sadly, despite their best efforts – Katherine had at least six pregnancies during their marriage – only one of their children survived to adulthood. That child, Mary I, went on to occupy the English throne, but Henry was not satisfied with leaving his kingdom to a female. By the late 1520s, Henry became convinced that their lack of surviving male children was proof that God did not approve of his marriage to Katherine. (Why? That’s the subject of a separate post, dear reader, but some of the sources listed below may satisfy your curiosity in the meantime.) In Henry’s mind, he needed a new wife – one that would please God – and fast.
As Henry discovered, ending a marriage in the early 16th century wasn’t as easy as he (and his lord chancellor, Cardinal Thomas Wolsey) had hoped. They appealed to the Pope to annul Henry’s marriage to Katherine, but Pope Clement VII was reluctant to angering Katherine’s parents, his strong supporter. Clement forestalled making the decision by sending his representative to England to hear Henry’s case and pass judgment on what became known as The King’s Great Matter.
Cardinal Thomas Wolsey
The Pomegranate with an Iron Spine
In June 1529, Cardinal Campeggio, the papal legate, opened a court session to essentially put the marriage of Henry VII and Katherine of Aragon on trial. On June 21, both Henry and Katherine were seated in the impressive Parliament Hall of Blackfriars Friary, and both were officially called into the court. Henry idly announced his presence, expecting all the hubbub to be merely a formality.
Katherine, however, was not a meek or timid woman who was content to have her fate (and subsequently that of her daughter, Mary) decided by a king’s whim. Instead of responding demurely when the court’s clerk called her name, Katherine rose and presented herself not in front of the Legatine Court, but directly in front of Henry. She fell to her knees and addressed him plainly, as her husband, calling him to account for the injustice being dealt to her.
Katherine of Aragon appealing to Henry VIII before the Legatine Council
Contemporary writer George Cavendish recorded her words:
Sir, I beseech you for all the love that hath been between us, and for the love of God, let me have justice. Take of me some pity and compassion, for I am a poor woman, and a stranger born out of your dominion. I have here no assured friends, and much less impartial counsel…
Alas! Sir, wherein have I offended you, or what occasion of displeasure have I deserved?… I have been to you a true, humble and obedient wife, ever comfortable to your will and pleasure, that never said or did any thing to the contrary thereof, being always well pleased and contented with all things wherein you had any delight or dalliance, whether it were in little or much. I never grudged in word or countenance, or showed a visage or spark of discontent. I loved all those whom ye loved, only for your sake, whether I had cause or no, and whether they were my friends or enemies. This twenty years or more I have been your true wife and by me ye have had divers children, although it hath pleased God to call them out of this world, which hath been no default in me…
When ye had me at first, I take God to my judge, I was a true maid, without touch of man. And whether it be true or no, I put it to your conscience. If there be any just cause by the law that ye can allege against me either of dishonesty or any other impediment to banish and put me from you, I am well content to depart to my great shame and dishonour. And if there be none, then here, I most lowly beseech you, let me remain in my former estate… Therefore, I most humbly require you, in the way of charity and for the love of God – who is the just judge – to spare me the extremity of this new court, until I may be advised what way and order my friends in Spain will advise me to take. And if ye will not extend to me so much impartial favour, your pleasure then be fulfilled, and to God I commit my cause!
Henry and the Counsel were, understandably, stunned by the power of her words and by her temerity in speaking so against the king’s obvious will. Katherine curtsied to Henry, then turned on her heel and glided from the courtroom, her ladies following. Astounded, the clerk cried for her to return to her seat, but Katherine kept her head high and her eyes forward, declaring without turning “On, on, it makes no matter, for it is no impartial court for me, therefore I will not tarry.”
Katherine of Aragon in later years
Katherine ultimately lost her battle to retain her place as queen, but her impassioned speech that day at Blackfriars proved once again that she was no wilting flower. The Pomegranate of Spain was a formidable woman indeed.
The scene: the Greek army has the city of Troy surrounded and besieged. Legendary champion Achilles leads his warriors in a raid on a nearby Trojan settlement, but the soldier next to him is wounded in the fierce fighting. Achilles knows what he must do to save his injured comrade-in-arms, so he lunges for…
...a plant?
That’s right, a plant. This plant, in fact.
Author’s first yarrow blooms of 2021
You might be thinking this introduction for a simple plant is a bit over the top, but Achillea millefolium, commonly known as yarrow, has earned its heroic reputation throughout human history. This humble herb has been valued for its healing properties around the world since prehistory, yet it’s likely to be growing right in your neighborhood.
History’s herbal hero
For centuries, yarrow was such a common and well-known remedy to slow or stop bleeding that it earned the nickname of “soldier’s woundwort.” Its fern-like leaves were applied to a wound, either as a fresh poultice (some sources suggest chewing the leaves a bit first) or once dried. Yarrow can still be used for this purpose; while not as effective as a modern bandage and appropriate pressure, knowing how to positively identify and use these leaves could provide much-needed first aid if one is injured in a remote location without access to immediate assistance.
Other traditional medicinal uses for this warrior plant (that’s not just a bad pun; it’s truly another of yarrow’s nicknames) included internal remedies to combat fevers, soothe stomach woes and fight headaches. Respected medieval herbalist and abbess Hildegard von Bingen prescribed yarrow to reduce swelling around the eyes after a good cry, saying that one “whose vision is darkened from flowing tears should pound yarrow a moderate amount and place it over his eyes at night,” though she warned against letting the plant material touch the inside of the eye. Good advice in any age!
Compelling 21st-century collaborator
While yarrow’s blood-staunching powers are used less frequently today, it is still a powerful ally to heal both the inside and outside of the body. Steeping the flowers in hot water creates a tisane that helps break a fever, though the flavor is much improved by the addition of peppermint or other tastier herbs. Used alone or combined with other skin-soothing herbs like plantain, it can relieve irritations such as bug bites or simple dry skin when applied topically.
As a hardy and beneficial plant that can be found in all 50 United States and grows wild on every continent except Antartica, yarrow is a friendly face to look for next time you’re wandering the wilds – or even just your local park!
Sources
Von Bingen, H., & Throop, P. (1998). In Hildegard von Bingen’s Physica: the complete translation of her classic work on health and healing (pp. 59–60). Healing Arts Press.
Easley, T., & Horne, S. H. (2016). In The modern herbal dispensatory: a medicine-making guide (pp. 325–326). essay, North Atlantic Books.
This past week, we marked the 529th anniversary of the death and burial of Elizabeth Woodville, Queen of England as the wife of Edward IV from 1464-1483, and a member of the last generation of Plantagenet rulers.
Elizabeth was born circa 1437 to Sir Richard Woodville (alternately spelled Wydville, Widvile or Wydeville) and Jacquetta of Luxembourg*, Dowager Duchess of Bedford, probably at Grafton Manor in Northamptonshire. Her first marriage to Sir John Grey of Groby Hall produced two sons, Thomas and Richard, before John was killed fighting for the Lancastrian side at the Second Battle of St. Albans, part of the Wars of the Roses.
Elizabeth’s glamorous second marriage to Edward IV, the victorious Yorkist claimant to the English throne, raised eyebrows amongst nobility and commoners alike, as it had been expected that Edward would marry a princess from France or elsewhere on the Continent. Despite the resulting public shock and Edward’s frequent infidelity, the couple had 10 children, including future English queen Elizabeth of York, and the two ill-fated Princes in the Tower, Edvard V and Richard of York. She was also the grandmother of that most notorious English king, Henry VIII.
After her daughter Elizabeth of York married the Lancastrian heir Henry VII, Elizabeth Woodville retired to Bermondsey Abbey in London, where she remained until her death on June 8th, 1492. She is buried with her second husband, Edward IV, in St. George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle.
Elizabeth chose as her emblem the gillyflower, which was the predecessor of the pink (referring to its pinked edges, not its color) or clove pink and carnation. Symbolizing virtuous love and marriage, and perhaps reminding viewers of the Virgin Mary’s chastity and motherhood, it is pictured surrounding Elizabeth in her coronation robes in the Worshipful Company of Skinners’ Fraternity Book (pictured below).
The gillyflower had medicinal value in addition to its symbolic uses, as recorded by two noted early modern herbalists. Nicholas Culpeper wrote that the gillyflower is “good to remove all difficulty of breathing, and helps the cough; they also provoke the courses and urine, and by bathing or sitting over the decoction it causes perspiration.”
John Gerard distinguished between the Clove Gillofloures and Pinks, or wilde Gillofloures. The former, he said, when made into a conserve with sugar, will “comfort the heart” when occasionally eaten. The latter have no medical purpose in Gerard’s estimation, but they are to be enjoyed as part of floral arrangements.
*Jacquetta should in no way be overlooked; an influential and fascinating figure in her own right, she is the subject of my independent research project, and I can’t wait to share the story of this remarkable woman with the world! Watch this space for further updates.
